No Other Woman (No Other Series)

by Shannon Drake

  "It might well have been some wretched beast who has come along with you as your henchman—"

  "I fought the man."

  "So you say."

  "Ah, and you say your family would never harm you."

  "You are harming me!" With her cry, she again tried to escape his hold, shoulders straightening against the force of his hands upon her. She tried to pull back, elude him. His fingers slipped from her arms and fell fully upon her breasts, hard callused palms against her nipples. She shrieked out, amazed at how very desperate she was to avoid his touch. Caught in the menace of sheer sensation, she wildly pummeled his chest, then desperately raised a hand to strike his face. He caught her wrist before any blow could fall.

  "Stop!" he commanded her.

  "Nay—"

  She had the sensation of flying as he lifted her up and tossed her down. There was nothing but air beneath her before she landed upon her back again on the great ancient Douglas bed.

  With him over her once again, pinning her there. She gasped, staring up at him furiously, fighting both her fear of the hard man he had become and an even more frightening fear of the emotion that was riding within her.

  Her shoulders were bare. Her breasts nearly so. Another move and she'd be half-naked. She struggled to maintain some semblance of dignity in her current position, flat upon her back. She tried not to think of how terribly vulnerable she was, or of how she felt with his bare thighs pressing against her hips.

  She didn't want to wonder if his anger was so great that he would rape her. Most of all, she didn't want to acknowledge the fire within her own body, created by his very nearness. She didn't want to remember the way that he could make her feel. The touch of his fingers against her flesh when he'd had tender feelings for her...

  "Shawna!"

  No tenderness. Just steel. Merciless.

  Lord God, she had to moisten her lips again. He touched her. Touched her in far too many ways.

  She lifted her chin, met his eyes. "No one within Clan MacGinnis would ever wish me harm, Laird Douglas. You had best take that to heart. I've uncles and cousins living within these walls."

  "Oh, I am well aware of that. Clan MacGinnis certainly had no difficulty moving right in."

  "Your father had no heart for this place, your brother no interest! By tradition responsibility for your holdings fell to the MacGinnises, and we assumed responsibility at your father's request and with his blessing! From this residence it is far easier to—"

  "Rule?" he mocked.

  "You are a liar if you say that you are surprised to find the MacGinnises here. Castle Rock has always been the point of protection and administration in Craig Rock. We do not rule, we administer!"

  "So you and your clan administrators have made my castle your home. Indeed, MacGinnises do rule here." There was a curious twist to his voice. Aye, he had expected to find the MacGinnises within Castle Rock. He was bitter; he was suspicious. And very aware he was outnumbered by her family. He did not seem to care.

  "Yet you've come here—challenging me!"

  His eyes focused on her again in a way that sent shivers racing through her. "I've business to settle."

  "Then—"

  "With you. First. Then, of course, there is the matter of your clan. Those who have taken over my life."

  "Be that as it may. You have been—dead. Gone. We have cared for the place. My kin live within these walls now. David, nothing was taken from anyone. Your family chose America."

  "After my 'death.' But I think that you and your kin have failed to remember one fact. While one Douglas draws breath, this is Douglas land."

  She had never forgotten that. Nor had she ever coveted Douglas property in any way. She'd spent the past five years in pain and confusion, wishing that she could go back, wishing that she could do anything to bring David back to life.

  Well, he was here.

  Unforgiving. Menacing. Threatening.

  "You, my lady," he reminded her, in a surprisingly soft, husky tone, "have taken over my very bed."

  "I've still only to shout, and my kin will come to slay you here and now for daring to so much as threaten me in the intimacy of"—she broke off, stuttering suddenly—"these chambers where I sleep."

  He arched a brow. "You're referring to my chambers, right? We must never forget the obvious—that you've chosen to take up residence in my chambers. Will your kin have the gall to slay me in my own castle, within my own room?"

  "It matters not where, you're threatening me! My kin could easily slay a man for less."

  "I can well imagine they might want me dead in truth at last," he said dryly. "Especially considering the fact that you and your kin are all so very well positioned in my house; you, dear lass, I must again point out clearly, within my very bed."

  "If you'll let me up, I'll no longer be in it!"

  "Umm... I think not. Not at this moment. Indeed, it seems you have been happy enough to be here in the past."

  "The care of the castle was left to the MacGinnis clan by your father, proper laird."

  "The proper laird—who had no heart for his own ancestral home once his son had died so violent a death within it!"

  "You've come back in violence, assaulting me—"

  "I—a dead man. What harm can a ghost do?"

  "Since you are dead no longer, play heed to my warning. If you do harm to me, my kin will kill you!"

  "I'm quite difficult to kill. Sure you realize that now."

  The way that he looked at her made her afraid.

  Afraid of what he would do to her. Afraid as well of what she might want him to do...

  "Get up and away, Laird Douglas. One shout will bring them to me."

  He did not move. For the first time, it appeared that he was capable of smiling, even if only in a mocking manner.

  "Have you gone quite daft? What is the matter with you?" she demanded. "Move, man!"

  "Umm... I think not."

  "You don't understand—"

  "No, you don't understand. I carried you to where you now lie. Although there are other means of entry—as we are both well aware—I walked through the gates, the great doors, up the stairs, and to this room, awakening no one. I think you'd have to shout quite a bit to raise any assistance. And you know full well I'll never allow you to shout for very long."

  "One of my kin will challenge you tomorrow!" she threatened.

  "Then one of your kin will die tomorrow, Lady MacGinnis, and I will not blink an eye in remorse."

  The deadly cold menace in his words frightened her.

  "Leave me be," she told him earnestly. "Reclaim your inheritance, and the MacGinnis clan will naturally leave the care of the property to you. Leave me be, and the room reverts to you, Laird Douglas." She hesitated, then told him passionately, "I had nothing to do with what happened to you!"

  "On the contrary," he said quite softly, "you had everything to do with what happened to me." He touched her cheek lightly with his knuckles. For long moments she could not look away from the power of his eyes. Then she realized just how thoroughly he blamed her, how very suspicious he was, and perhaps, even, that he had a right to blame her for the events that had occurred.

  "I lured you, yes!" she whispered passionately, vehemently. "That, and no more. Aye! We meant to search through your rooms, the office. We needed time—"

  "Which you would get plenty of—once I was dead," he said dryly.

  No matter what she said, she realized, he wasn't going to believe her.

  "But you're not dead!" she reminded him.

  "No."

  "So you sit here and accuse me of attempted murder while you live! You have lived elsewhere, you have left us to believe that you died cruelly. How dare you! It is your place, Laird Douglas, to beg my pardon, and explain where you have been all this time!"

  Chapter 4

  "Where have I been?" he repeated with a raw fury that caused her to tremble so violently inside, she nearly betrayed the fear she was attempting to hide. />
  "Aye! Where have you been? I said that it was your place to beg my pardon—"

  "Beg your pardon!" he all but roared, then lowered his voice, his green eyes afire. "My lady, were you to crawl buck naked through layers of ground glass to kiss my feet, you'd not manage to beg my pardon with enough humility!"

  "It shall never happen, I do so swear—"

  "Indeed? We shall see. And you know this—where I have been is not your concern. Suffice it to say that though I was not dead, I did most seriously dwell in hell here on earth! And by God—"

  "We are living in the nineteenth century," she cried. "If you've some accusation to make," she warned, "you had best do it through the courts! We'll wake everyone in Castle Rock and let it be known that you have returned, and then you may make your case against me or my clan if you will."

  He shook his head. "Nay, Lady MacGinnis. I've no intention of letting it be known that I have returned as of yet. My brother will shortly arrive from America. As Laird Douglas."

  "As Laird Douglas. Aye! You are so quick to cast blame upon me and mine."

  "Where else would I cast blame?"

  "Perhaps it was your heathen brother who wanted you dead!"

  She spoke the words, then fought hard not to allow herself to cringe into the bedding, for she regretted them the moment they were out of her mouth, and with good cause. His hand was raised, as if he would strike, and strike a stunning blow. But he gained control, and his knuckles fell tauntingly upon her cheek.

  "So now you would blame my brother?"

  "Who gained here by your death?"

  "Milady, you are sleeping in my bed."

  "I am a caretaker for the surviving Douglas—"

  "You—and your kin—hold the power here in my brother's absence. Any man—or woman—who was patient, and well aware that my father's and brother's hearts lay in America, would benefit well from my demise. My father's death was naturally coming soon enough; age would see to that. Here you are, living with your kin within the castle. I imagine that more and more Douglas cattle find their way into MacGinnis hands. Then there is the matter of the disputed land, which I daresay might be at the very heart of the matter, for unless I miss my guess, there are even more tremendous coal deposits on that property than any of us had imagined, and in our nineteenth century industrialized world, coal is worth a king's ransom and certainly a lesser man's death. Then, I imagine, the laird's share of tenant produce here most probably finds its way into MacGinnis coffers. But then, what argument do I need to bring up with you? You wished to see me the night of my 'death.' Alone. My assignation that evening was with you, was it not?"

  Aye, God yes, it had been. Yet he was here now, quite menacingly so. Aye, she had lured him on Gawain's urging, only because she had been desperate to help Alistair.

  She'd not known what would happen next. Truly, she had not.

  Words suddenly sprang desperately and unbidden to her lips. "Sweet Jesu, David. It was long ago. You must realize, I don't know what happened. There was the fire. There is so much I don't remember—"

  "Ah, lass, but I have remembered, and I have remembered you! Through what agonies you cannot begin to imagine!"

  She remained still, biting into her lower lip to maintain what dignity she could. Through what agonies... where had he been? What had happened to him in all that time she had thought him dead? Why hadn't he come back before? Why hadn't he let her know that he was alive?

  "David, truly, I meant you no ill-—"

  "Ah, but you are a sorry liar, milady!"

  "I tell you—"

  "Nay, lady, I tell you!" He leaned close, his green eyes glittering in the moonlight. "I am alive—demon, man, or beast—and I will discover exactly what happened that night, how I came to be buried while suffering all the tortures of hell at one time."

  Shawna swallowed hard, willing herself not to tremble. She was afraid; she was fascinated. She couldn't forget the feel of him when he had touched her with passion, searing into her with fierce fire and raw determination.

  And desire.

  She had to speak, had to escape his touch. The memories.

  She moistened her lips. She had to make him move away.

  "I meant you no harm."

  "Ah, but you did!" No good. Now the soft stroke of his fingers smoothed back a lock of her hair. His voice remained husky and soft, causing the burning within her to heighten. "You lured me to the stables."

  "I've admitted as much. I needed to talk to you."

  "We didn't do much talking. You lured me to seduce me. To my death."

  "I never intended to seduce you—■"

  "Umm, perhaps not as far as you did. You intended that I drop from the drug in the wine before matters could go quite so far as they did."

  "The wine-—"

  "Was very definitely drugged. Are you denying that?"

  Her lashes fell. She had difficulty breathing.

  "Shawna?"

  His whisper touched her face. The feel of his thighs around her hips distracted her.

  "I—I—meant to talk, I've told you that. We were trying to help Alistair. But, I tell you, sir, in truth, I don't know—"

  "You knew enough, and you brought about my damnation, Lady Shawna MacGinnis. And by God, you will be part and party to all that I require—nay, demand!—now!"

  "You are mad if you think that you can demand anything of me, Laird Douglas! I will not—"

  "You will not what?" he queried softly, leaning even closer, the flash of his teeth caught in the moonlight now, his smile like a satyr's grin.

  "Just what is it that you would demand?" she asked.

  "Everything, Lady MacGinnis. Everything. Flesh and blood and bone and more."

  He was closer. So close that his lips hovered just above hers.

  His fingers again brushed her cheek. They ran down the length of her like tendrils of a flame.

  "I demand... you, milady," he said flatly. "Indeed, I have come back, and would begin again where I left off. I demand you. And how very damned convenient. Just what I want—so easily delivered to me. You are, after all, sleeping in my bed."

  "I offer my heartiest apologies. By some miracle, you have returned. The bed is yours. I can most certainly leave it."

  "I think not, Shawna. I think not. Most certainly, milady, I think not tonight."

  "This is absurd. You don't understand—"

  "You don't understand, my lady. I was set up. Attacked. Left for dead, yet somehow alive. Alive to reside in absolute hell. The guilty parties must be made to pay."

  "But—"

  "Tonight, my lady, paying begins. And it is your turn. You first. Oh, aye, you first. For others may be involved. Others must be discovered and proved. While you, my love—you are guilty as all hell."

  "Damn you, I didn't—"

  "Damn you, you did."

  "I tell you—"

  "I lay in this very room, Shawna, while you came to me in the moonlight, and beckoned me to hell. How quickly, how easily, you forget!"

  "I did not forget!"

  "Neither did I."

  "David, I'm telling you, I don't know what happened, I don't know how you can be alive. I—"

  "Well, we'll have to all discover the complete truth of the past then, won't we? But in the meantime, tonight, lady, you begin to pay."

  She knew him; he was so familiar.

  Yet he was a different man, and she feared she didn't know him at all.

  He could very well mean that he was about to wind his fingers around her neck and slowly, surely, squeeze her life from her.

  Her breath caught as she met his eyes in the nighttime play of light and shadow. No deep dark warmth of forest green met her stare, but a glitter as sharp as emerald gems, as cold as stones from within an icy depth of the earth. And still, she despaired to feel a searing of heat within her veins, her limbs; he was a stranger, but even after five years, he was a familiar stranger. Flesh, bone, and muscle, she knew him well, knew the man with her. The power
in his eyes she knew, yet it was clear that whatever more gentle emotions he might once have felt toward her had indeed died that night. The sharp light in his eyes as they met hers came from the demon death had made of the man; his touch upon her was equally as cold. Yet that did not douse the fever that had possessed her, born of fear, and dread, and fury, and... anticipation.

  She was the daughter of a people who had fought forever, she reminded herself. A people who had died for their rights, for their pride, for their beliefs. Whatever he sought, vengeance or murder, she would fight until she could fight no more....

  "I'll not pay for what I haven't done!" she whispered heatedly. "You'll demand nothing from me. You'll—"

  His finger fell against her lips and he spoke coldly and harshly, as if he hadn't heard a word of what she had said. "I shall tell you, my lady, what will and will not happen. You cry to me of your innocence while admitting your guilt."

  "I was guilty only of—"

  "You were the pawn, Shawna. The bait. Perhaps you didn't strike the blow. Someone did."

  "I swear to you, I don't know—"

  "Someone tried to kill me."

  "But you didn't die. Where—"

  "That's not important right now."

  "Perhaps no one did try to kill you. There was an ungodly fire."

  "I was struck what was intended to be a deathblow on the head, Shawna."

  "A rafter must have fallen—"

  He let out an expletive with such explosive fury that she fell silent.

  "I swear to you, I know nothing about any attempt to murder you—"

  "Prove it."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Keep your silence. Help me find the truth."

  "How?"

  "For the time being, just watch and listen."

  "And if I don't help you?"

  "If you don't..." he mused, leaning close, low against her. She was aware of the texture of his face, the tension in his features, and throughout him. A strange heat riddled him now, like a low-burning fire that could at any time rage out of control. Could she have moved, she might well have been tempted to leap out the window to escape the portent of violence that seemed to burn and simmer within him. But he sat back upon his haunches again, atop her, yet easily keeping the pressure of his weight from her. "I promise you this, my lady, if you don't keep quiet, I'll make you very, very sorry, indeed. And aren't you forgetting something?"